


The Kiss

by nikirik



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Romance, Translation from Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikirik/pseuds/nikirik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was never a big fan of kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Поцелуй](https://archiveofourown.org/works/647149) by [nikirik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikirik/pseuds/nikirik). 



> A/N: unbetaed.

John Watson was never a big fan of kissing.  
Being a doctor he knew too well that the interchange with saliva could mostly bring the microbes' mingle-mangle than pleasure. John pictured vivid scenes of bloodshed (various lifeforms struggling for surviving in his mouth), as his tongue was in touch with another.  
The meaning of kissing was obviously overestimated by the social and cultural tradition.  
On the contrary, sex was understandable and justified. As they say: even the bad sex is a good thing.  
And with Sherlock it was magical. Meaning then the magic was gone, so should be John.  
'Cause the genius had no more need in the used shell of the man.  
To tell you the truth, John felt as if he was a condom.  
Certainly he wasn't expecting them to share a fag or shower each other with sweet nonsense.  
It was unacceptable (and improbable).  
Judging from the probability theory he had more chances to get a love confession from the scull, than from Sherlock. Just another reason to hate Maths.  
And John desperatly did.  
Every time the pale face with high cheekbones came near his, so he could define the smell of aftershave, toothpaste and coffee, his head spinned and he forgot to listen to the words this lips were saying.  
Sherlock was angry with him, mocking him violently for his imbecility, but John couldn't argue.  
It was hard to react appropriately in the state of trance.  
How to make Sherlock kiss him he had no idea.  
He never considered his narrow lips seductive.  
The statistics confirmed he was right.  
John was lacking concentration more and more. Untill the moment, he couldn't get it up in the middle of the foreplay with Sherlock, while thinking of that hypothetical kiss.  
Sherlock was vexed, but didn't want to bother himself, so he just returned to his laptop, leaving the doctor to zip his pants on the sagging couch.  
The reast of the evening passed in stiff silence.  
Watson was slightly (but inevitably) going mad.  
He fell so low as to sneak some women's magazine from Mrs. Hudson with a title on the cover: "Kisses: he loves you/he loves you not?"  
He should've never done it.  
It seemed apparently that Sherlock was only using him.  
John was feeling inexpressibly endlessly sorry for himself.  
The bloody leg was aching like a bitch.  
Sherlock entered quietly and stood still behind John's chair.  
"Does it hurt?" he asked suddenly sympathetically.  
Watson shrugged his shoulders reluctantly.  
"Poor sod," Sherlock leaned forward as swift as ever and placed a subtle kiss on John's lips, which made John's temperature raise and paralyzed his lungs.  
"It's pity," his inner voice denied."It's love," his heart pounded.  
John lifted his gaze.  
Sherlock watched him, his forehead wrinkled with suffering.  
He smiled awkwardly.  
And John let himself believe.


End file.
